~ life. one moment at a time.

Category Archives: Uncategorized

I haven’t felt much like blogging lately (as you clearly know). It feels like a lot of pressure: there are classes and groups and ideas about blogging; ways it should be done, stories that should be told, arcs that should be followed; it feels like it has to be substantial if I’m going to bother doing a whole post. Sometimes I have something to say but it just doesn’t feel like it deserves an entire post. So lately I’ve been doing something else: writing longish posts on Facebook. I’m not sure how much I’ll be back here (though I may change my mind again and suddenly take up blogging whole-heartedly. I’m trying to put less pressure on myself generally), so if you’re interested in keeping in touch, please come join me on Facebook. You can follow me here.

Here’s a sampling of some things I’ve posted recently:

Well, it’s officially official: we’re on the move again! This time we’re moving to New York City! We’ll be living on the Upper West Side in Manhattan and I’m so incredibly excited for our new adventure. We’ll miss our family and friends terribly, but we can’t wait to make new connections and experience new things. My life is never boring, that’s for sure!!

(Oh yeah, we’re moving. Again. More on that later. On the Facebook.)

Thoughts on Awakening:

Almost exactly six years ago today I stood on the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro after six long, cold, hard days of hiking to get to the top. That moment was the beginning of a transformation that would affect almost all aspects of my life. It was a moment of awakening and though the darkness shuttered my eyes many times in the days and weeks and years that followed, I had felt the joy of standing with my eyes open to life and I could never go back to the numb sleepwalking I’d done up until that moment.

My life has changed in almost every way since that day. At the time, I was working 80 hours a week at a job that I hated, I was chronically fatigued and in nearly-constant pain but for the numerous prescription drugs that I took, I suffered with depression and my coping mechanisms were self-destructive and harmful to my work and relationships, I ate pure crap and had no understanding of how it might affect me apart from my pant size (and often skipped eating to keep said pant size low), I walked through life in a fog of thoughts that I wasn’t even aware of, and I stayed in toxic relationships because I didn’t believe I deserved any better.

Today I’m pursuing my passion and though parenting keeps me tired, it’s a healthy tired borne of hard work and it sits above a well of energy that keeps me buoyed. I take no medicine and I’ve come to realize that healthy food is the best medicine of all. I’ve left behind my self-destructive behaviors and learned a whole new set of coping mechanisms that I can draw on for the rest of my life. I feel positive about my body and I eat in a place of joy and gratitude for the food and my health. I practice mindfulness and the quiet space that I find when I consciously let my thoughts fall away is one of the most peaceful experiences I’ve ever had. And I’m married to a wonderful man who’s given me the two most beautiful children I could have ever asked for.

What was that moment of awakening that caused so much change in my life? Read more here.

Thoughts on Memory:

Today I took the kids to the stables where we kept our horses when I was a child. I hadn’t been there in almost twenty years, but it was exactly the same. The barns, bright red and white against the blue sky, but faded pink and beige when you look up close; the arena, dusty and dim; the outdoor track, complete with a young woman riding loops, sitting pretty in her shiny black English saddle; and the pastures – oh, the pastures! – endless and green, dotted with pale white clover, a deep, still backdrop for the horses, mostly grazing calmly, except that one, rolling joyfully in the dirt then standing, front legs first, one then the other, then slowly push up the back legs, knee to foot, and a pause as she gathers to collect herself, and in that pause you’re not sure she’ll make it and then, boom, she’s up, shaking herself in a manic shimmy as the dirt rises off her in a cloud.

We walked through the main barn, past horses flicking flies off with their tails, teenagers brushing down their tired horses, a pat on the withers as the horse flinches to let the steam out of his tired muscles, a woman mucking a stall. Everything so familiar – the sights, the sounds, the place itself. But like Marcel Proust searching for lost time, it was the smell that really did it. It smelled exactly like it did when I was a child: the musty sweet of manure, the gritty dirt, worn for years into the walls and floor, the hay, broken apart in the stalls and drifting up into the air, the leather of tack and boots, sweaty and soft from overuse, the fresh grass, wafting down the hall from outside through the open doors, the horses themselves, salty sweat and sweet and hot breath and earthy damp.

As I stood in that barn I was a child again, all long legs and unfettered optimism and courage I didn’t know I’d had. And I was me, now, today. We were one, in that barn, with my daughter and my son gazing, amazed, at those horses, and I think, though I didn’t have a chance to ask her directly before the present moment brushed away the past back to where it rightfully belongs (saved but not-often-accessed, not cluttering up the moment that we’re living in now); I think she was proud of me, that child I once was. And I think she was happy I came by for a visit.

Like this:

In my hunt for an agent for my book, I’ve decided that anything that could help can’t hurt. So a little good karma? Yeah, send it my way. On that note, I’m sharing my list of agents to query (including the ones I already have queried) in case it will help anyone who’s also going through this harrowing process. These are agents that are looking for YA, although the agents themselves or others at the agency are also often looking for a lot of different kinds of books. I’ve also included a link to the submission guidelines and what they ask for. I’ll keep updating as I find more agents (this is definitely a work in progress at this point). And please, if you know of others, let me know!

Like this:

“Unfortunately, after carefully reviewing your query, we’ve determined that this particular project isn’t the right fit for our agency at this time.”

“After much consideration, we’ve decided not to pursue this project. Ultimately we didn’t feel that this project was right for us”

“Unfortunately I don’t feel I’m quite the right agent for your project.”

And seven more.

That’s 10 rejections. I’ve been querying my book for a little over a month and so far I’ve received ten rejections and not a single request for more pages or a full manuscript.

This morning I checked my email as I always do upon waking up. Just a few junk emails. Nothing special. I ate breakfast, I took a shower, I got dressed. It had been maybe 20 minutes and I checked my email again. THREE rejections. Three rejections in twenty minutes.

When the rejections started coming in a few weeks ago, I told myself that I wouldn’t let them bring me down. I would “celebrate” every rejection by sending out another query. And until today, I’ve done it every single time. But three rejections in one day? I think I’ve lost my ability to celebrate.

I’ve tried different versions of my query letter and they’ve all been rejected. How many more times can I rewrite this thing? No more times. That’s what it feels like right now.

I recently watched a TEDTalk by Elizabeth Gilbert in which she says that the best way to deal with failure is to go back “home” – go back to whatever it is that you love doing. In other words, I should go back to writing.

I’ve tried. I have a new project that I’m working on, here and there, when I have the time. But it’s hard to commit to it with the first one hanging over my head, its failure a low grey cloud, fogging my mind, dampening my creativity and making every day more hopeless than the last. The fog is so thick, I can’t see five feet in front of me.

Like this:

David said something to me the other night that kind of shook my world. He said, as I struggled through changes on my book and lamented how far from even decent it was, “Are you still finding any joy in this process? Because if you’re not, I think you should take a step back. The joy of writing is how you got this far, and I don’t want you to lose that. It doesn’t really matter whether you get an agent, or get published, or make any money. You’ve come this far and as long as you found it joyful, nothing else matters.”

I’m hoping you won’t be surprised when I say that the whole thing brought me to tears.

Because the truth is, I have lost the joy. I’ve been so focused on perfecting it – round after round of changes, rewriting, edits; compiling agent lists, who to query, when to query; writing the impossible query; failing to write the even more impossible synopsis – that I’ve stopped loving it. I haven’t done any other writing – it’s why I haven’t posted here in months. I haven’t even really been doing much else, because all my free time I want to devote to the book.

And I hate it.

So today, I’m letting go.

Don’t worry, I’m not giving up. I’m just letting go of my book. I sent my first query letter yesterday, and I just sent another one. The book is not perfect. The query letter is not perfect. The synopsis still is not even written. But I’m letting go.

For now.

Because the truth is, I know that finding it joyful is important. But I also know that nothing worth doing is ever easy. And that every success follows at least some struggle. So I’ll give myself a break. I’ll let it go for now. And when I find the joy again, I’ll come back for more of the pain.

Like this:

Hey loyal readers! If you tried to read my post yesterday, you may have encountered a message that my domain had expired. I encountered that same message for the first time when I attempted to proofread the post after publishing. Whoops! Not sure how that happened.

But never fear, I have successfully renewed my domain and everything is back to normal. After several hours of failed attempts, help from my husband, and lots of quality time with Google Customer Support. Just kidding, Google has no customer support. At all. But that’s another story.

So anyways, if you’re still interested in reading yesterday’s post (about Archer turning one month old – complete with pictures!), check it out HERE.

Thanks for all the messages letting me know about the problem – it’s great to know I have so many readers who want to read my posts :)

Like this:

Her voice is gravelly and hot, rising an octave at the end. She stares at both of us in turn. I shake my head slightly, unsure of what to say. Allison, the other volunteer, is more confident.

“I’m not sure what happened to it. Maybe you should ask Emily.”

“No. I told you two. I told you I was comin’ back for that food.” She steps further into the kitchen, her presence imposing. I can feel her panic as her chest rises and falls rapidly and her eyes get larger.

I stare down at the lettuce I’m prepping for the salad. Too old to sell in the supermarket, they’ve donated it. Its wilted, brown ends stick to my fingers as I try to find pieces worth serving. It’s my first volunteer shift and I’m not sure if we’re supposed to err on the side of getting as much food on the table as possible or on the side of respecting the women by not serving them food that most people wouldn’t eat.

“I’m not sure, ma’am, we’ve been in here the whole time.” Allison is still talking, thank god, and I feel pathetic for making her handle this.

The woman steps up to the counter now, just a couple feet from us.

“I told you!”

She slams her hands down on the counter and for a moment, I feel afraid. Most of these women are dealing with substance abuse and mental health problems, and I know that makes it hard to act reasonably. I will myself to look at her and smile slightly, infusing my face with understanding and empathy.

Just then, Emily comes in. She takes the woman aside and the incident seems to be over.

Allison and I look at each other and laugh nervously. “I remember they warned us about that in orientation,” I say, still embarrassed that I wasn’t more helpful. Allison nods.

I finish the salad and Allison starts cooking the burgers. Soon we’ll serve lunch to the 28 women who live here, trying to break the cycle of homelessness.

But before we do, the woman comes back in.

“I’m sorry,” she says. She looks us both in the eyes. “Sometimes I just get a little panicked. And I don’t like to waste food.”

We smile – big, cheery smiles – and assure her that it’s no problem.

And I marvel at the apology. I know how hard it is. I know how an apology can sit in your throat for days, making it hard to say anything else. I don’t care if Emily made her say it, I’m still impressed. This woman has lived god knows how much of her life not knowing when or how she would eat. Now that she has some food, she wants to keep it.

Suddenly I feel even more excited about my shifts here. I know these women will test me and push me. But now I see clearly that they will also inspire me.

I sit on the floor in the Kids’ Bedding aisle at Target, nearly in tears. Pink and purple and flowers and butterflies and polka dots to my left, green and blue and orange and bulldozers and dinosaurs and ships to my right. We’re here to buy bedding for Adeline’s new big girl bed, which will arrive tomorrow. And I’m realizing that my efforts to practice gender-neutral parenting have succeeded: Adeline wants the bulldozer sheets. So why am I crying?

New sheets. Current bed.

Why, indeed. Let’s start with the simplest reason: I don’t like the bulldozer sheets. They don’t go with the rest of her room, which I’ve carefully and thoughtfully decorated over the last two years. And personally, I just think they’re ugly. But what right have I to decorate her room? What does it matter what I think of the sheets? These are her sheets and it’s her room. If she likes them, that’s all that matters. My personal aesthetics be damned.

But I want her to like the things that I like! This divergence in our tastes is just another outward sign that she will separate from me, more and more as time goes by, one day slipping away from me entirely. Shit. Even the aesthetics point wasn’t simple.

Like this:

Martha Stewart is a quitter. She’s a pro at giving up. Doesn’t sound like the Martha Stewart you know? Think again.

Martha was: a model, a stockbroker, and a caterer before she became the Martha Stewart. She was successful at all of those things, but she gave them up. It was precisely this – her ability to see her future potential and to stay hungry for more – that enabled her to become the incredible success she is today.

Imagine if Martha had simply been satisfied with good enough. At any point in her career she might have said, “This is enough. I’m successful. Why take risks or leave a career that’s stable and respectable?” The people around her might have been encouraging her to stay. They might have thought she was crazy for giving up something that was well-paid and that was a decent thing to say at cocktail parties.

Martha the model. She was beautiful and admired – men wanted her, women wanted to be her. Isn’t that what every woman is supposed to want? Most likely, she would have been washed out and out of work by the time she was 40. She was, I’m guessing, forward-thinking enough to know that it wasn’t the right fit for her. So she quit.

Martha the stockbroker. She was making a lot of money and working at a prestigious firm. She was a woman in a man’s world, fulfilling all the promise of the women’s movement. She was probably working long hours and not seeing her daughter or her husband as much as she wanted. And maybe she found the work dull and uninspiring. She had the courage to say that even though the job was good, it wasn’t good enough for her. So she quit.

Martha the caterer. She was doing something she enjoyed and she was becoming ever more successful. She had bounced around in her career and maybe felt that she should just stick with this. But she knew that there was so much more. She could taste the possibility. She didn’t want to be just a caterer. She wanted to be the definitive source for everything lifestyle. So she moved on.

Martha spoke to us at BlogHer’12. I had never thought of myself as a Martha Stewart fan, but she won me over. She was funny, smart, and so confident in herself that it rubbed off on a room full of 5000 women. She talked about a wide range of things, but it was one image that stayed with me. The BlogHer organizers put up a slide of three pictures of Martha: Martha the model, Martha the stockbroker, Martha the caterer. In that moment, I realized that quitting and moving on is sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself.

The BlogHer’12 picture

We all make choices and we have to live with the consequences of those choices. But that doesn’t mean that we have to stay on one path forever. Think of your hero and look back on his or her life. I’m guessing she made a lot of false starts and wrong turns before she came upon the thing that made her into a hero. Let’s embrace the wrong turns. Let’s start quitting.

Like this:

I stand looking out at the crowd and I feel my heart start to race. They’re not particularly paying attention to me, but they’re still there. And of course all I can think is that they’ll judge me if I do poorly. The music starts: eight measures of intro and then it’s time. I have to start singing. By myself. It’s karaoke!

Karaoke Baby!

The last time I sang by myself in public was nearly ten years ago – in college. To be fair, that was to an auditorium packed with friends and fellow students for a musical/humor competition among the Greek houses. And in law school I was in the musical as well, though I don’t think I had a solo. It’s possible that I did and I was just too drunk to remember. Either way, it’s not as though I’ve never done this before.

But it’s been at least seven years and a lot has changed since then. While I’ve become more confident and comfortable with myself, I’ve also lost a lot of the bravado and sheer fearlessness of youth. I blog all the time about intensely personal things, but I don’t want some drunk strangers to think I shouldn’t be up here singing.

Too late now: the intro is over and I dive right in. I’ve picked one of my favorite Indigo Girls’ songs, I Don’t Wanna Talk About It. I know it by heart, I’ve sung it hundreds of times in the car or in the kitchen, it’s perfect for my range, and I absolutely love it. I get a bit of a rocky start, but soon I relax into the song. I stop thinking about the girls who’ve already been up here singing Adele like they deserve a record deal. I let myself feel the emotion of the song and I do my best to put it out there.

Really feeling it

By the end, I’m in love with this experience. Instead of looking to the crowd, I look to my friends in the booth near the front. They’re clapping for me, cheering me on. I finish the last phrase, take a breath, look around, and then celebrate!

I did it!

I can cross another item off my 30 Before 30 List. I have a little over three months to go and I’m about halfway done. Considering that I started three months ago, I’m calling that pretty awesome. Here’s the complete list with my progress so far. More to come soon!

In my first “30 Days of Truth” post, I mulled over the fact that it’s so, so easy to find things that you hate about yourself. One of my perceptive commenters (from The Polka Dot Palace) noted that it would probably be much harder to find something that you love about yourself. Yes, my friend, you’ve hit the nail on the head.

But here’s the thing: there are actually a lot of things that I love about myself, when I think about it. So why does it seem harder? We live in a culture where it’s often considered a bad thing to speak well of yourself. You don’t want to seem too proud (I mean, come on, pride is one of the seven deadly sins!). Humility is a virtue, so we learn to always downplay our successes. And while this is true for everyone, I think it’s even more true for women. Little girls learn, whether from their parents, teachers, peers, the media, or culture generally, that it’s important to be demure, quiet, and self-effacing.

The problem is that when you spend your life telling everyone else that you’re not really that great, you start to believe it yourself. “Oh, that 5 on my AP test? I must have gotten lucky.” “No seriously, you’re not fat, but look at me!” “Yeah, I graduated with honors, but I’ve just always been good in school. It’s not a big deal.” We say these things to make ourselves seem humble, to make others feel better about themselves. But then we start to believe that our luck might run out, that we’re not pretty enough, that we won’t succeed in the real world.

And even worse, we train our minds to follow certain thought patterns. When someone asks us what we’re good at, we honestly have trouble thinking of something. We find the “interview answers”: I’m very organized, I work well with others, I always meet deadlines. But we struggle to dig deeper, to find what really drives us and what we really excel at.

Pride is not evil. It doesn’t make you a bad person if you celebrate your successes and tell the world why you’re great. There’s no reason that a “good girl” needs to diminish herself or be self-deprecating. Knowing what you’re good at and what you love about yourself will give you the ability to find joy and love in life. We need to teach our children to be proud. And there’s no better way than to model for them. So celebrate yourself. Start by leaving a comment telling me what you love about yourself. No one here will judge you for being too proud!

Adeline still loves herself

Oh, and what about me? I love that I’m not afraid to say what I’m thinking and to stick to my beliefs even in the face of opposition. So there!

Well this should be easy! I hate that I pick the skin around my nails. I hate that I bite my lips. I hate that I sometimes can’t manage to respond to emails. I hate that I drink soda and can’t make myself stop. I hate when I make stupid mistakes or misspeak. I hate that I procrastinate. I hate that I give Addie snacks to keep her calm in the car. I hate that I sometimes lose my patience when she’s whining and I yell at her. I hate that I don’t know what to do with my life. I hate that I went to law school and incurred hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. I hate…

And that’s when I stop myself and realize the truth. The most important thing that I hate about myself: I hate that I’m so self-critical.

And the worst part is, I know I’m not alone here. Why do we do this to ourselves? Continue reading →

Please excuse me while I indulge in some self-pity. For anyone who has studied for/taken the bar exam before, I hope you appreciate this. For everyone else, maybe you can just feel a little better about your own life right now?

1. I shouldn’t need to do this. It’s not just that I went to law school and practiced law for almost four years. Because let’s be realistic: law school is too theoretical and practice is too, well, practical. Neither is particularly helpful for the bar exam. But come on! I already studied for, took and passed the bar exam once! I hate that I have to do this again. Advice to new lawyers: once you’ve passed the bar, don’t move. For real.